


Rough Magic

by thawrecka



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Future Fic, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-06-01
Updated: 2002-06-01
Packaged: 2017-11-20 04:31:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/581331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thawrecka/pseuds/thawrecka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You don't want to piss Willow off. Now or in the very distant future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rough Magic

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilerish up to and including Villains, though I've not seen past Gone at the time of writing. This is partly inspired by Bad Magic Willow of season six and partly inspired by all those old fanfics wherein Willow was too perfect to be human.
> 
> I blame and thank Diana.

The children are silent, obeying their goddess. The adults sojourn to the temple for worship and placation. The elders recite the ancient chants.

Not even the grass is allowed to disobey. Willow is all-powerful, all knowing and spiteful. If you break her ancient commandments she may smite you down.

 

The shy little bookworm sits on the bench. Her eyes are downcast, her body unobtrusive.

A new girl comes to ask for help. She is another pretty, fashion-obsessed airhead asking for homework help is the first impression. It wouldn't do to deny. The girl does not wish to offend and suffer for it.

"Why don't we start with, Hi, I'm Buffy?"

The shock deep within that someone so glamorous could want to speak to her. Is this where it starts?

 

"We bow to you, goddess Willow. Your wisdom is infinite. Your power is unlimited. Your beauty is unimaginable. We live to serve you, O Great One. May we always be in your favour. Our crops are bountiful because of your infinite mercy. Our water is clean because of your infinite mercy. Our weather is fair because of your infinite mercy. We are eternally grateful."

The prayers go on like this for several more minutes. A little girl, not more than four years old, shifts restlessly in her seat. Her face takes on a scowl. She tugs at her mother's sleeve.

"How much longer will this be, mummy?" she wonders, her voice thunderous in the silence. "I'm tired."

The priestess gasps in shock. The congregation creases their faces in worry.

That next summer the crops fail.

 

The computer nerd wears the teacher hat. The computer nerd looks through computer files. The computer nerd finds something.

The temptation of power, the possibility of power, the computer nerd cannot ignore these things. And, look, it may help save the world. Because, really, isn't that all the computer nerd wants?

 

The community has wronged. The goddess is angry. The supplication begins.

First there is the ritual of prayer, on their knees begging forgiveness.

"Forgive her, O goddess Willow. She is only a child. She knew not the error of her ways."

Then there are the offerings.

"O Goddess Willow. O Great One. We offer you our service. We offer you our dedication. We offer you our lives."

Then there is the desperation.

"We offer you our deaths."

A small patch of earth perks up, the signs of new, vulnerable life protruding from the dirt. It is clear blood will have to be spilled.

 

// always ready to work some dark mojo ... is it dangerous //

The witch feels power, feeds vanity. The witch wants recognition, gets a shock.

// magic is dangerous ... it's not to be toyed with //

Shadow Willow is dangerous. Shadow Willow is sexy. Shadow Willow is powerful.

 

The sacrifice is placed on the altar, bound by the arms and feet. The priestess unsheathes the knife. The sacrifice tries not to scream.

"Why do you whimper, sacrifice?" the priestess asks. "Is it not enough that this is for the good of the community? Are you as unworthy as you appear?"

The priestess runs the knife over the sacrifice's naked flesh, the red line growing and swelling as she cuts open his flesh. The sacrifice cries, quietly into the night.

"You can scream, sacrifice. Goddess Willow wants it that way."

A tortured scream rips from the sacrifice's throat, just before she rips it out.

 

The walls shake. Objects break. The lights flicker and fade.

The door opens for the wronged lover, her eyes back with cold fury.

She is high on rage and the hint of destruction. A women scorned is an effective weapon.

Black eyes. Blue lightning. Promise of pain.

Glass shatters. Daggers fly. A snake appears.

The world is her doll house and Willow wants to play.

 

The blood flows red over the recovering fields. It paints the priestess' robe and the altar in bright splashes. The world returns to life under its touch.

Willow's morning sun shines down on the recovering field.

 

The slaughtered fawn. The resurrection. The mind control. The murder.

It doesn't matter how it starts; only that it does.


End file.
